All too Soon We will Greet the White of Winter's Might
It is cool and bright in the blue mountains.
The deep chill of night has moved, settled
down into the valley. The morning sun
spreads her arms over and around, painting
with nature’s brushstrokes. Like a watercolor
framed in autumn’s colors, it is a gift.
Still, quiet, peaceful like, I walk around
leaves: yellow, red, rust, and brown, they waiting.
Many have fallen to welcoming ground,
protection’s blanket for nature’s seedlings.
‘Tis season’s own version of a healthy
need to relax, contemplate, hibernate.
My heart skips to the tune of earth’s blessings.
My lips are singing a song, the stanzas
not yet formed, neither notes upon a page
nor played by musicians, nor ever sung
by any, except those who dare to leave
behind, the weary world’s loud noises.
I welcome you, O, peaceful morning. Your
gift of joy is mine for the taking. Rest
and relief you bring to my soul. You
remind me to shine down, and all around.
I embrace you, and, unlike sun who asks
Nothing, I pray God that the world be at peace.
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